


whistle

by stilinskisderek



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Deputy Derek Hale, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23840461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisderek/pseuds/stilinskisderek
Summary: The one where Stiles blows Derek under his desk.That's it, that's the story.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 304
Collections: Sterek love





	whistle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dylansobrien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dylansobrien/gifts).



> hey guys, its been awhile!! this fic was supposed to be for moreid but my friend convinced me to make it sterek and basically wrote half this shit for me in texts so how could i resist!! hoping i havent lost my touch. enjoy xx

**stiles** : _what do you want for lunch?_

Derek blinked at his screen, too tired to actually think about what he wanted to eat that day.

_Surprise me._

**stiles** : _wtf_

 **stiles** : _i’m going to get the food and you want me to decide what we’re gonna eat too?_

 **stiles** : _you lazy bitch_

He huffed amusedly. It has been three years since they went from casual sex to an actual relationship and Stiles has somehow mastered the art of surprising him by acting the exact same way he has since they met. As much as the two of them say they have only been together for three years, it seems that everyone else is convinced they were together for longer, before the sex even. Apparently Stiles and Derek were a lot more “coupley” than they should be.

_“You know they’re probably right,” Stiles had said the night they decided to tell everyone they were official, “all we were missing were the titles and we’re both not that into titles.”_

_He was drawing shapeless patterns on Derek’s bare chest but averted his eyes to look up at his lover, “this title matters a lot to me though.”_

_Derek tightened his arms him and planted a soft kiss on his forehead._

_“Me too.”_

His lips stretch into a small but incredibly fond smile at the memory.

_Fine. Get me a cheeseburger from that gourmet place we went to last week, please._

**stiles** : _no_

What the fuck.

 **stiles** : _i’m like ten steps away from your office with pesto pasta from johnny’s_

And right on cue, the door swings open, no knock or even an “I’m coming in.” Nope. Just Stiles walking right in like he owns the place before slamming the door shut.

“Honey, I’m home,” Stiles sing-songs.

Derek glares.

Stiles pouts.

“Now what did I tell you about that face? You’ll have wrinkles by the time you’re thirty five at this rate.”

He musters up the fakest grin he can at the reminder. “It’s cute how you keep telling me that like you aren’t more likely to show signs of aging before me.”

Stiles scoffs, “given just how terrible you look right now, I beg the differ.”

A paper bag is dropped in front of him right before Stiles plops down in the chair on the opposite side of his desk. The same desk Stiles decides to rest his worn out Chuck Taylor clad feet on. “Speaking of which, why do you look so bad oh beautiful boyfriend of mine?”

The deputy grabs the bag and murmurs out something that sounds like a thanks before shredding it open and snatching at his meal.

His eyes snap up to Stiles whose lips are already parted, a joke about Derek being raised by wolves right on his tongue.

His boyfriend shrinks back into his chair at the glance, “you just make it so hard.”

“I know,” he boasts with a smirk then shoves a forkful of pasta into his mouth.

“Ha ha ha, real knee slapper Der,” Stiles quips, the amusement drained from his face, “anyway, why do you look like absolute shit?”

Derek shrugs in response, leaning back in his chair with a sigh, “too many morons in Beacon Hills doing too much stupid shit, leaves me with too much paper work and I got three hours of sleep last night max so I can hardly focus on any of what I’m doing.”

The younger man hums, “maybe if you had just come over last night like I told you to…”

“Right, then I could be running off of zero hours of sleep instead. What an improvement,” he responds flatly.

“Hey, at least you’d be a lot less tense,” Stiles points out with a brow quirked.

Derek rolls his eyes then goes back to eating his pasta. It’s silent for awhile, with him eating his lunch, feeling Stiles’ eyes tracking his every movement. He knows that stare because he feels hot all over from it. It’s the kind of gaze that he knows if he were to actually look up and catch, he would pounce, so he doesn’t. He holds onto his thin string of restraint and eats his pasta. That is how his lunch break will be spent, in blissful silence with his hotter than the sun boyfriend sitting less than four feet across from him. He is completely fine with that. He can handle that. He will handle that because that is how the next thirty minutes will go.

“So.”

“No.”

Stiles squawks and when Derek lifts his eyes, his brows are furrowed with his hands raised defensively and his mouth agape. His lips are rosy red and glistening, Derek notes, which means he’s been sucking on them. _Fucker_.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“I don’t care, I know the answer is going to be no,” he responds with a tight and less than friendly smile.

“No you don’t,” Stiles argues.

“I do.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do not.”

“I’m not doing this with you, Stiles.”

“So let me deliver my proposal.”

He knows there is absolutely no way of winning this battle, “fine, but the answer is going to be no.”

“You don’t know that either.”

Derek lifts his brows in mirth, gesturing his hands as to say “sell it to me, then.”

“Let me blow you.”

Fucking fucker.

“No.”

“You’re only saying no because you said you would say no and now you don’t want to be wrong about you saying that you would say no,” Stiles speculates with narrowed eyes.

“No, I already knew what you were planning to say from the beginning and I knew my answer would be no so I told you as much but you decided to go along and ‘deliver your proposal’,” he adds air quotes for the dramatics, “anyway.”

“Dick.”

“Mmm.”

Stiles continues to look at him, eyes drawn to slits. He just stares for awhile and Derek stares back. Then he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and Derek has to do everything in his power to not fall for this trap.

Stiles has this thing he does where he fucks Derek without touching him and that is exactly what he is doing right now.

He slouches in his chair then lets his head sag back, stretching a little as he does so and it would pass for the most innocent of actions had it not been for the sound that escaped his mouth.

God, Derek really hates him.

He doesn’t hate the desk though. Matter of fact, he is very grateful for this desk and what it is hiding and the distance it puts between him and Stiles. The distance that is seriously becoming a problem because Derek just wants to touch him. Stupid fucking desk.

Derek shifts in his seat and that’s when Stiles stands.

 _Fuck_.

There’s a blatant bulge imprinting Stiles’ khakis.

 _No_.

Stiles is next to the desk, when did he get there?

 _Oh fuck_.

The look in his eyes right now is the same exact look he gave Derek the night they first had sex, right before he yanked Derek in for an earth shattering kiss.

 _Shit_.

Stiles is right in front of him. Leaning over. Arms around his neck. In his space. Breath warm against the skin of his neck.

 _Jesus_.

Stiles sucks Derek’s earlobe into his mouth and the older man’s eyes flutter shut.

“You want me to suck your dick,” he whispers. It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Stiles knows it even before he runs his hand over the clothed erection Derek is sporting.

This is ridiculous. Derek is a grown man. He is a grown man with a stable job and a good number of morals and a pack and a little sister he constantly looks after and he buys his own groceries and cooks his dinner and does his own laundry and is 59% responsible for Stiles not dropping out of college. He _is_ responsible and he has a whole lot of self control.

“You want me to blow you,” Stiles repeats but slower this time.

Except for times like these.

“You really shouldn’t,” Derek exhales. It wasn’t a no, he knows Stiles will notice.

“Your dick is practically halfway down my throat, we’ve already gone too far to stop now.”

Derek’s eyes blink open. “My pants aren’t even off yet.”

Stiles blinks. There’s a pause.

“Shut up and get your dick halfway down my throat before I go find Parrish.”

That’s all it takes before Derek is practically shoving Stiles under his desk.

He hears Stiles chuckle as those long fingers do quick work on his belt buckle. Derek’s pants are halfway down his thighs in less than ten seconds.

Stiles gazes at his cock like he hasn’t seen it in weeks. “Missed you. Oh yes I did, yes I did. Did you miss me too? I bet you di-“

“Stiles,” Derek hisses impatiently.

His boyfriend grins at him playfully then licks up the length of his dick from the base to the tip before letting Derek’s cock slide into his mouth, taking every inch with ease until his nose meets the older man’s pubes.

Derek moans, tries not to be too loud but fuck, Stiles makes it difficult.

He briefly thinks back to the first time Stiles blew him, the way he gagged trying to prove that he could deep throat despite Derek assuring him that this was not some sort of race. He had just given Derek determined eyes and kept trying anyway. He’s come a long way.

Now, Stiles fits the deputy into his mouth with no problem at all, jaw relaxed as he bobs his head. His tongue is persistent against the sensitive skin of Derek’s shaft, cheeks hallowed to a point that would exhaust anyone else’s mouth quick, hand following the movements of his mouth, running up and down in unison. His head twists back and forth as he goes and Derek is a little worried about his neck but can hardly focus on that right now because, “shit, Stiles, your mouth.”

Stiles meets his gaze with sinful eyes and Derek gets flashbacks to the time Stiles shot him that look after four minutes of sucking him off and he came like a rocket. In his defense, he hadn’t had an orgasm for two weeks but that did not stop Stiles from teasing him about it. The only thing that stopped Stiles was when he got him on his hands and knees and rimmed him until he could do nothing more than gasp and tear up into his pillow.

He could probably come right now. He could. He probably should because he’s at work and he shouldn’t be doing this anyway but that would mean this would be over and he does not want this to be over.

Derek’s fingers sink into Stiles’ hair and tighten around them the way he knows the younger man loves. He really does love it if the way he moans is anything to go by. He moans and he moans and he moans and he keeps moaning even when Derek loosens his grip. The vibrations make Derek’s toes curl and his hips thrust shallowly involuntarily and Stiles moans even louder. Derek yanks his hair to silently tell him to quiet down but the asshole just moans again. He glares at his boyfriend and by the look on his face, he is definitely doing this on purpose. Dickhead.

It gets to the point where Stiles doesn’t even need to moan anymore because the build up of saliva is doing all the work in terms of noise. Derek’s biting his bottom lip so hard he knows it’s bleeding because there are definitely fangs growing when his dick slips out of Stiles’ mouth with a wet pop so his lover could start lapping at his balls instead. He switches back, sucking a testicle into his mouth then letting it go to lick at Derek’s taint then back again.

“Fuck,” the werewolf groans, thigh muscles tensing up as his grip in Stiles’ hair tightens again.

Stiles goes back to sucking his dick but seems to be more into the idea of playing with it a little more than before. He freestyles with the movement of his hands, both of them running up and down the length, rolling his thumbs over veins, massaging at the skin between his balls while his mouth occupies the head of Derek’s cock. He swirls his tongue around the area, uses the tip to rub along the slit dripping precum, envelopes the head with his mouth and just rests there, sucking it with consistent pressure while his hands do all the moving.

Derek feels himself on the edge and tugs Stiles off his cock. A line of spit linking Stiles’ bottom lip to the tip of his cock expands the farther his head moves away and Derek’s eyes focus in on it before he looks up at his boyfriend’s face.

He’s wearing the proudest, smuggest grin and Derek just wants to fuck it off his face. He says as much and Stiles laughs then gives him a fake pout, “but you won’t. Not here. Not while there are so many deputies out there, at least.”

He‘s right and Derek hates it.

Stiles leans forward but Derek holds his head where it is. There’s a glint in his eyes before he starts stroking Derek’s cock. It’s slow at first but the pace picks up with his breathing.

“You gonna come, Der?” He bats his eyelashes at him, wicked smile betraying his innocent tone of voice. “Come on, I know you want to.”

He really does.

“Do it, come all over my face. You can lick it off like you did that one time, then kiss me, let me taste it, I’d like that.”

“Stiles.”

“Or I can lift my shirt, let you come on my stomach,” Stiles’ breathing has picked up now too but his motions haven’t faltered. “I’ll walk out of here and all the weres will know what went down, will know I’m yours.”

They all probably already know what’s happening in here at this point but that’s a discussion for a later time, preferably after Derek has his orgasm.

“God, I’m so turned on right now it’s unreal. The walk of shame out of your office is going to be so awkward but so worth it. I’ll be thinking about how you’re gonna sleep over tonight on my way to the door.” There’s a bit of desperation there, like Stiles is pleading instead of demanding. His breath hitches when Derek’s hand turns in his hair, his own hand moving faster. “You will come over right? Throw me on the bed and fuck me into the mattress? Fuck me until my voice is hoarse, until I can’t do anything else but lay there and let you take care of me, until I’m fucking sobbing from how good it feels. Fuck, baby, you always make me feel so good.”

“Stiles…” Jesus Christ, he is going to die and his tomb is going to say _Cause of death: Stiles Stilinski_.

“Derek please, want you to come so bad. Mark me, make me yours, please, _please_.”

“Yeah?”

Stiles nods and lets his eyes grow big as he licks his lips, pupils dilated.

Derek’s so close he can practically taste it. He knows he’s going to come, flattens his lips against one another to stop himself from making too much noise when he does.

Then there’s a knock on the door and Derek has hardly any time to push his chair forward while pushing Stiles further under the desk before the door is swinging open.

Derek momentarily worries about if Stiles bumped his head in the process, then he sees the sheriff and suddenly there are a lot more concerning matters to be pondering over like where else he can apply for a job.

“Sheriff,” he says, a little louder than necessary so Stiles can know to play nice. Apparently Stiles’ definition of nice is letting the flat of his tongue lightly dance against Derek’s frenulum.

“Hey Derek,” John greets casually, “I’m going on my lunch break but I just wanted to let you know that you can head out now if you want to. I know you’ve been putting in those extra hours and you look like shit, you could use the rest.”

“So I’ve been told,” Derek responds, voice cracking in the process. He fights the urge to reach under his desk and shove Stiles’ head away. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’ve been dating my son for three years and you still call me sir,” the sheriff responds flatly.

“Only here,” he corrects, “gotta keep up the professionalism.”

_Yeah, doesn’t get more professional than getting a blowjob from your boss’ son while on the clock._

Stiles pinches him.

“Mmm-hmm,” John murmurs, pulling the door a little bit to signal that he’s about to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Derek.”

Derek gives him the best smile he can without looking constipated, “see you tomorrow, sir.”

John turns to leave with a nod, almost out the door when he turns around and says, “oh and deputy? If you put your dick anywhere near my son again when I’m around, I’ll shoot it off.”

Derek freezes.

He’s fucked. This whole situation is fucked.

“You wouldn’t have enough bullets,” Stiles snorts from his position under the desk.

Fucking _Stiles_.

The sheriff glares at Derek and his lips thin but he doesn’t look as pissed off as he probably should look, exasperated maybe but it could be worse. “Shut up, Stiles. And get out from under the desk, you need to take me to the emergency room.”

Stiles pokes his head out from under the desk to look at his father, “what? Why?”

“Because I’m going to go and ingest bleach,” he mumbles right before walking out.

Stiles’ head whips around to gape at Derek with bewildered eyes for a beat, then he’s jumping out from under the desk and running after his dad but not before shouting “fuck you later” over his shoulder.

When they’re both gone, Derek groans, letting his head drop onto his desk, erection long forgotten.

He really needs to update his resume.


End file.
